


Of Dragons and Wolves

by FallenGods



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGods/pseuds/FallenGods
Summary: Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, wanted only the best for his family and for the realm. Could that really happen with Robert Baratheon on the Iron Throne? Could the man who justified the murders of innocent children be trusted as King? Could the drunkard, whore-mongering, rage filled stag really become the Protector of the Realm? What will become of the Starks? The remaining Targaryens? How will everything play out now that the Rebellion is over?orNed Stark makes a decision that changes Westeros as you know it.





	1. EDDARD STARK

The Dornish sun beat down on Ned relentlessly and he found himself shifting his sticky, sweat soaked leathers constantly as he made the climb up the short, yet rocky hill. Five men followed closely behind him, Howland Reed chief among them. Ned's slack hand gripped the pommel of his sword tighter as he reached the sand covered plateau that sat inauspiciously beneath the looming figure of the Tower of Joy.

As Ned stopped and faced forward, his companions did the same, taking spots at his side or just behind him. Ahead of them were three men, donning shiny steel armor emblazoned with a three headed dragon. Their white cloaks moved about in the slight breeze. The man at the head of the trio was tall and strong looking, with silver hair and dark violet eyes. If one did not know him to be Ser Arthur Dayne, they might mistake him for a Targaryen. Another armored man sat on a nearby rock, mindlessly sharpening his blade with a whetstone. Despite his aged, rugged look and unostentatious display, he was still intimidating in his own way. He was the White Bull, Ser Gerold Hightower and even in his elder years, he could best nearly anyone in single combat. The third and final member of King Aerys's former Kingsguard was Ser Oswell Whent who stood off to the side, leaning against the tower, smirking ever so slightly as he watched the Northerners approach.

Ser Arthur alone stepped forward, his greatsword Dawn still strapped to his back. He clutched his hands together at his waist.

"Ser," Ned said, addressing the other man coolly.

"Lord Stark," the knight responded then caught himself, "or should I say  _your grace?"_

 

_Ned was the first of the rebels to walk into the throne room of the Red Keep and he did so alone, with his foster brother Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn bound to follow him in at any moment. With sword in hand, Ned had planned to be the one to take King Aerys captive and finally end this war, although, in truth, the war was over the moment Robert Baratheon caved in the chest of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. What Ned saw in the throne room was not what he expected. The Mad King lay face down in a pool of his own blood and Ser Jaime Lannister sat atop the Iron Throne, crimson colored blade resting across his lap._

_Ned did not know how long he stood there, processing what he was witnessing, but in time, Jaime Lannister stepped down from the metal chair, sheathed his sword and approached Ned._

_"Don't worry, Stark," Jaime began, a tight smirk on display, "I was only keeping it warm for our friend."_

_Is that what he expected? Is that what the others expected? For Robert to take the throne? In truth, Ned had never given much thought as to who would take the throne after the war was up. He was always just so focused on getting justice for his family, for his father and his siblings. Now he realized how important it was to decide who would be taking the throne. Jon was not a man who wanted power, at least not to that degree. He would stand by and allow one of the others to take the throne. The same could be said of Lord Tully. That only left Robert and himself, and although he had no interest in being King, could he stand by and let Robert become one? Robert had too much anger in him and not enough responsibility. Ned loved the man like he was family, but he had little faith in him as Protector of the Realm._

_Behind him, Ned heard the sound of footsteps approaching and Jaime turned to greet the newcomers. It was now that he must act, for if he let Robert claim the empty seat at the end of the room, the results could be disastrous. An angry, violent, whore-mongering drunkard would likely plunge the realm into war with the wound of this most recent one so fresh in everyone's mind. Ned could not allow that to happen._

_Ned took the first step away from the door, and in that action, sealed his fate. He climbed the steps of the large seat methodically, staring down at his feet to make sure each step he took. The sound of footfalls behind him ceased before he had yet to reach the top and when he did finally reach the summit of twisted steel, he turned to look upon his fellow rebels. Still standing, he glanced first at Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, his face locked in a wide smirk. He then looked to the man he considered his brother. Robert Baratheon displayed a mix of emotions as he flicked his eyes back and forth between Ser Jaime, the now dead King Aerys, and Ned himself, now stood tall atop the Iron Throne. Ned saw anger first, then contention, then confusion, and finally a simple mask adorned the stag's face, features blank as he looked up at Ned. Ned looked lastly to the Lord of the Vale, Jon Arryn, who stood as still as a statue, peering up at his foster son. And with the smallest of nods from Jon, Ned's racing heart settled greatly, and carefully as he could, Eddard Stark seated himself upon the Iron Throne._

 

"Where's my sister?" Ned asked Ser Arthur, anger forcing its way into his tone. The knight looked him over for a few moments before stepping to the side and gesturing to the tower. Ned raised an eyebrow at the man, unsure of his intentions, but the idea of seeing his sister again overcame any skepticism he had and he walked past the Sword of the Morning with purpose. As Ned approached the winding steps of the structure, Gerold Hightower stood, sword in hand directly in front of him. Ned's hand went to his sword instinctively.

"We served our king," Gerold Hightower stated, plainly.

"Aye. You did," Ned responded, looking the man in his eyes. They were dark and harsh, yet more weary than Ned expected.

"Our king is dead," Gerold said then, and sheathed his sword. He stepped to the side and allowed Ned to pass.

Ned practically raced up the stairs, as if the stone itself was ablaze. When he finally reached the room at the top of the tower, his heart lodged in his throat. Lyanna Stark was lying in bed, the blankets around her soaked red. Ned rushed to her side and dropped to his knees next to her. They were alone.

"Lya," he whispered in her ear.

"Ned? Is that really you?" she turned her head to face him and a smile that could melt the Wall sprung to her face.

"It's me, sister. It's me." Ned assured her and pushed loose hair from her eyes with his forefinger.

"I missed you, big brother," Lyanna said, "I heard some strange rumors about you, Ned. I heard that you had taken the crown for yourself. Is it true?"

"Aye, it is. Someone has to keep the realm together." he explained, softly, looking down at the ground as he did so.

"You'll make for a good king, brother," Lyanna claimed and stuck her hand out to touch his cheek. But as she did, her face shifted to something significantly more grim. "Take care of him for me, Ned. Promise me you'll keep him safe."

"Who? Keep who safe?" Ned asked and looked into his sister's eyes, seeing nothing but terror and concern. That is when Ned heard the man's footsteps. He turned to see Arthur Dayne enter the room and walk across it to a wooden structure in the corner. Ned only realized it to be a crib after Arthur lifted a red faced little babe from it and carried it over to where Ned was kneeling. After the child was in Ned's arms, Lyanna spoke again.

"He is Rhaegar's," she explained, effort lining her words. "His name is Jahaerys. Keep him safe, Ned. Promise me. Promise me, Ned."

He lifted his eyes from the babe and once more on his sister. "I promise, Lya. I promise." Her face relaxed into a smile and her body went slack. A tear ran its way down Ned's face and he moved to kiss his sister on the forehead for the last time. 

After a moment, he stood and faced Arthur Dayne once more, his nephew in his arms. Arthur's eyes didn't leave the child.

"Rhaegar's bastard," Ned claimed, addressing the babe now.

"No," Arthur said without looking up, "Jahaerys Targaryen, the trueborn son of Rhaegar and Lyanna Targaryen." He looked up when he said the last word, searching for a reaction in Ned's face. In truth, Ned was not surprised by the news, but his fright grew, for Targaryens were not well loved at the moment. It had taken all Ned had just to keep Rhaegar's first two alive. Adding another head to the dragon was not something Ned was eager to do.

"They cannot know." Ned whispered despite the empty room.

"I agree. We must protect the boy. The others can't know of his bloodline," Arthur responded.

"And what do you suggest we do about keeping it a secret?" Ned asked.

"Most of Westeros is aware of your former infatuation with Ashara," came Arthur's reply, followed by silence as Ned thought them over.

"You mean for me to claim him as my bastard and tarnish mine and your sister's honor?" 

"It would do to mask any Targaryen features the boy might develop. Besides, honor is a small price to pay for the son of my closest friend and your sister." Arthur waited a moment before continuing. "Do you trust the men you brought with you?"

"With my life," Ned answered the question without hesitation.

"With his?" Arthur asked, gesturing to the child.

Ned stopped to think on it for a moment before responding. "Yes, with his life as well." Arthur merely nodded at this and moved to stand in the doorway before looking back at Ned. "Jahaerys Targaryen, the son of ice and fire. Jon Sand, a bastard boy born in the South."


	2. BENJEN STARK

“A raven has arrived from King’s Landing, my lord,” Maester Luwin gave the news delicately, his own nervousness showing through in his words. The small grey man crossed the space of Ned Stark’s solar as briskly as his ageing legs would carry him, to where Benjen Stark was sitting, looking over accounts and attempting to keep his mind off of matters in the South.

From the reports received from Lord Hoster Tully in Riverrun, the war was over, and yet Benjen had still not heard from his older brother. His mind unintentionally went to the darkest of places when he thought of Ned marching to King’s Landing to take on the Mad King. He thought of the King’s infamous pyromancers crafting their wildfire and the army of loyalists ready to protect their king at all costs. The war may have been won, but what price had been paid?

Benjen’s worry only grew as he noted the sigil imprinted in the wax that sealed the letter shut. It displayed a soaring falcon, the mark of Jon Arryn.

“Thank you, Luwin. You may go now,” Benjen declared, careful to mask the emotion in his voice. The older man opened his mouth, as if to speak, but decided against it and merely bowed and shuffled out of the room, pulling the door shut as he went.

Benjen did not know how long he sat there, staring at the rolled up piece of parchment that sat on the desk as impertinent as a rock in the forest or a blade of grass in the field. When he finally moved to take up the letter, his hands shook tremendously and he had to take a moment to steel himself to what it might tell. Benjen had lost his father and two of his siblings in the past year alone and the mere idea that he may lose Ned as well made him cold to the core. Ned’s own lady wife Catelyn was in the Lord’s Chambers now with little Robb, the infant heir to Winterfell. Benjen would loathe to have to tell her that her husband had perished in the Sacking of King’s Landing. 

In time, he forced himself to take the letter in his hands and quickly broke the seal with his thumb. He figured it best to get it over with, if it was bad news that the raven had brought him. He read the epistle with a cautious eye, as each word he read incited a wide range of emotions. He read it once and finished with a indomitable sense of relief. He read it a second time and knit his brow in confusion. He read it a third time and felt the panic clawing its way up his throat once more. That was when he stood, pushing the large oak chair backwards as he did. With the paper clutched in hand, he fled the solar and began making his way through the winding halls of Winterfell.

_My brother is alive. My brother is… a king?_

He turned the corner and nearly sprinted down the hall to the Lord’s Chambers. He heard the sound of merriment coming from the Great Hall, where the men and women of Winterfell celebrated the victory at the Trident.

_Oh, how they will celebrate when I tell them of this._

He reached the door to Ned and Catelyn’s room and took a breath before knocking. He looked down at the paper as he waited, skimming through the message for the fourth time. Catelyn answered the door with her babe in her arms and looked up at Benjen with red rimmed eyes.

“Benjen, I hadn’t been expecting visitors so late,” she said so softly that he had to strain to hear her.

“I did not mean to disturb you, but,” he began and held up the letter for her to see, “a raven came from King’s Landing.” Her breath hitched and for a moment she looked as if she would begin weeping. She blinked away the tears and moved to allow Benjen to pass. Catelyn took a seat on the edge of her mattress and motioned for him to sit in a chair opposite her.

He did so and handed the letter over for her to read. She attempted to hold Robb in the crook of one arm as she read, until Benjen held out his hands to take the babe. She looked into his eyes with a mother’s worry, but relented and placed her child in the arms of her good-brother. He began pacing the room, gently rocking Robb as Cat read. He was peering out the window into the pitch black night when he heard the first sharp intake of breath and listened to her repeat the words aloud.

“Eddard Stark, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm,” Catelyn whispered to herself and looked up at Benjen, as if to ask if this was some sort of jest. She finished the letter and the two sat in silence for many moments. “I am…”

“A queen; _the_ queen.” Benjen finished for her. She stood and came to stand by his side.

“And you are…”

“The Lord of Winterfell,” he finished once more and chuckled lightly. “The fourth child of Rickard and Lyarra. They might start calling me Benjen the Unlikely.” This earned a smile from Cat and he moved to lay Robb in her arms. _Prince Robb._ “Ned has gone further south, to Dorne, to find our sister- to save Lyanna. Afterwards, he plans to ride to Winterfell once more before returning to King’s Landing.”

“With Robb so young, I cannot make the journey to the capital quite yet,” Cat reminded him.

“Aye, you will remain here for some time, until the Prince is able to make the trip.” Benjen explained to her and found himself once more peering out the window, this time looking down at Winterfell’s courtyard. A few stragglers wandered about, drunkenly making their way to their quarters, yet the majority of Winterfell’s residents remained in the great hall, drinking and feasting. The music and laughter drifted outward, muffled slightly by the castle’s thick, stone walls. “I suppose I should go tell the rest of them,” he announced and ran a hand through his hair. Catelyn squeezed his shoulder lightly. He gave her a small smile before making his way from the room and down the hall. “My brother is the king. Gods help him.” He whispered to himself and pulled his cloak tighter around his neck to aid with the cold.


End file.
